Tell Me Something I Don't Know
by InsanityInReverse
Summary: Matthew Williams didn't have a problem with Lovino Vargas, his flatmate, but sometimes, it seemed that Lovino had some kind of problem with him. But Matthew, ever the passive person, decides that instead of pursing the problem, he would just concentrate on making sure Lovino didn't hog the TV during hockey season. It's their system, you could say. [Romanada]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N **;; Guys, I can proudly say that I take most of my stories with some degree of seriousness, but this one… Haha, nope. There is very little thought into this story. This story is made purely for my own amusement, mostly for shits and giggles, based off of the question I had asked myself, which was, _What would it be like for Romano and Canada to room together, as flatmates? _And thus, I couldn't resist the urge to write a fic about the idea. This story will be lighthearted – if you're looking for a story that is drama-filled, emotional, and covers the more serious aspects of life… Well, you won't find it here, that's for sure…

But I'm hoping you guys will stick around anyway. This is going to be fun for me.

**Remember to review to encourage the authoress!**

* * *

**Tell Me Something I Don't Know**

**…o…**

**Chapter One**

**…o…**

* * *

"Where the fuck is the milk?"

Nervously gulping down another spoonful of his cereal and the very last of the milk, Matthew Williams looked up from the kitchen island, glancing between his flatmate and the mentioned milk sitting just beside him arm. "Um…" he mumbled weakly, shrugging lightly. He had used the rest of the milk for his cereal, but he had a feeling his flatmate already knew that. "I don't know?"

Light brown eyes were narrowed at Matthew as his flatmate shot him an accusing glare from where he stood at the refrigerator. Lovino Vargas was not a morning person, and this was something Matthew had learned very quickly from the last month he had spent living with the Italian. In the morning, he was a walking bad mood waiting to lash out at anybody or anything (even more so than usual), clad in a sleeveless black shirt and green boxers, glaring death at anyone who happened to look at him funny.

Matthew averted his eyes. God forbid he look at Lovino without a good reason to.

Bad mood personified walked towards Matthew, a deep scowl marring his features. Matthew winced inwardly, preparing himself for the verbal lashing he was sure to receive from Lovino's mouth – but, much to his surprise, he was left mostly unscathed. All Lovino did was snatch the loaf of bread sitting on the island counter and walk back to the toaster, throwing a backwards glance at Matthew as the Canadian sighed in relief.

"Whew," Matthew muttered, shooting a relieved glance down to Napolitano, their Neapolitan Mastiff puppy, who, Matthew was pretty sure, was watching their entire interaction. Big brown eyes blinked up at him, long pink tongue hanging out between wrinkled lips, and a trail of drool coming from the corner of his mouth.

Well, actually, Napolitano wasn't _their _puppy. He was more of Lovino's.

Lovino had brought home the dog one night after work, grumbling about how he had picked Napolitano up from a box lying on the street. "He's here to guard me from the fucking German," Lovino had said when Matthew had begun to ask questions, and before the Canadian had had any more time to question his random act of kindness, Lovino had shoved the dog into his hands and retreated into the shower.

As the dog had proceeded to lick his face, Matthew had been surprised for two reasons that night.

One; he couldn't believe people still left dogs in boxes on the street. How old-fashioned was that?

Two; the same Lovino Vargas, who actually enjoyed watching poor zebras being eaten by crocodiles on _National Geographic, _had actually saved an animal's life, despite enjoying watching the demise of many. That was the night he had figured out just how strange Lovino really was, and had only begun to realize just what he had gotten himself into when he had agreed to live with him.

Of course, Matthew had ended up washing the poor dog that night – but that was to be expected, and he didn't really mind. He liked dogs. And besides, Napolitano reminded him of his old dog, Kumajirou, from back home. It was like having another little reminder of his old life with him. Alfred had better be taking good care of Kuma, he thought. _I'll kick his ass if he isn't. _

Alfred, his near twin brother and other half, lived in Dallas. When Matthew had initially announced his moving away, Alfred had offered to take Kumajirou off his hands temporarily. The original flat Matthew had gotten didn't allow animals, but by the time he had found his job, and therefore Lovino, who had come with it, Peter, the brothers' younger cousin, was already too attached to Kumajirou for Matthew to think of taking him away.

Seeing Peter and Kumajirou together made a little part of Matthew's heart each time he saw them, but if Alfred let anything happen to his dog, he was going to kill him, no questions asked. And if Alfred had thought Matthew looked scary when playing hockey… He knew nothing. He was going to make his brother _bawl. _

He just hoped Peter wouldn't be there to witness it. He didn't want to scar the poor boy.

There was a small ring from the toaster as the bread popped out, lightly browned and crispy. Carefully, Lovino picked them out of the machine and dropped them onto his plate. He walked over to the island, balancing a knife, the butter, and strawberry jam in his other hand. Matthew watched the Italian from the corner of his eye, not bothering to attempt to strike a conversation as they shared breakfast together.

For the past month, they had eaten breakfast together every single morning, almost all of them silence – well, except for the occasional, "Milk," or "Butter," or even better, "Milk and butter. Give it."

And Matthew was just fine with that. It didn't bother him in the slightest.

He didn't have a problem with Lovino, but sometimes, it seemed that Lovino had some kind of problem with him. Unlike most people, both Lovino and Matthew's younger brothers respectively being each a key example, who would want to find out why they were being despised, Matthew didn't really care. Sure, being cussed out, the occasional remark or snide comment was annoying – but Lovino didn't steal his things, didn't harm him, and he didn't hog the television.

Matthew didn't see the need to waste time finding out exactly why Lovino seemed to hate him, when it was likely going to lead back to Lovino hating him even more than he already did, and maybe worse, heightening the chance of him hogging the television – and Matthew absolutely hated missing an episode of _The Rick Mercer Report_ or a hockey game.

He knew the Toronto Maple Leafs would win another Stanley Cup. He just had to be patient. Their drought would end soon enough.

_He knew they would win eventually. _

But back to Lovino…

His head was bowed in concentration, his dark hair falling over his eyes as he sliced the crust off his toast. Lovino didn't like bread crust for whatever reason; something that Matthew found pretty weird was that Lovino removed the crust after he toasted the bread, while any normal person would peel it before the bread was toasted.

But then again, he was Lovino – and he was a pretty weird, moody person already. Matthew probably shouldn't have expected anything less.

After living with Alfred for the first eighteen years of his life, nothing really surprised him anymore.

Matthew swallowed the rest of his cereal as he watched Lovino lay out the strips of bread crust on the side of his plate. "You know," he said softly, propping his elbow on the counter as he cradled his head in his hand. "The bread crust is healthier than the rest of the bread."

Lovino looked up at him briefly. "You can have it," he said evenly, picking up the strips of bread and holding them out to him.

Sighing, Matthew shook his head. "Never mind," he mumbled, taking the bread. "Thanks for the leftovers, by the way."

Lovino only scoffed as he spread butter over his toast.

Hearing soft, padded steps, Matthew looked down at Napolitano, who was sitting patiently beside his leg, looking up curiously at the dangling strips of bread hanging from Matthew's fingers. The Canadian waved the bread back and forth in the air, laughing softly at the dog's head followed the bread.

"Here, Napo," he said, finally dropping the bread to the ground, watching as Napolitano eagerly ate. He knew the shortening of Napolitano's name kind of annoyed Lovino, as he would frown every time he heard it, but Matthew couldn't really find it in himself to care that much. He used it purposely a lot, anyway. "At least you don't waste food."

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards his Italian flatmate, and through his mind, he told Napolitano that his owner, Lovino, was the guy he was talking about.

And Matthew knew that Napolitano understood him because he nodded.

Or maybe he just wanted more bread.

No, Matthew was pretty sure it was a nod of understand. He and Kumajirou had used to have little signals like that all the time. He knew what they meant.

Matthew could feel that Lovino was watching him, feeling a burning sensation on the back of his head. As he looked back, yes, he was able to confirm that Lovino was indeed staring at him. He was leaning against the counter, holding his toast, and chewing it as he watched his flatmate send telepathic messages to his dog. His hazel eyes were narrowed, as if he were wondering why he had gotten stuck living with such a strange person.

"Yes?" Matthew asked, bringing Lovino's eyes to him, slipping off the stool and taking his empty bowl with him.

"Nothing," Lovino muttered quickly, red springing up in his cheeks, looking away as he took another bite of his toast. Bread crumbs stuck to the corner of his lip and he turned his gaze to looking out the window instead.

"We better hurry," Matthew said from where he stood at the sink, turning on the tap and beginning to scrub his bowl clean quickly. "We might be late for work again. Belle will kill us."

Lovino made some kind of noncommittal grunt as he finished the last his toast, walking over to the sink and shoving his plate into Matthew's chest before leaving the kitchen. He picked up Napolitano as he went, balancing him in his arms and bringing him with him, allowing Napolitano to the last of the bread crumbs off his face.

"Come on, Napolitano," he said. "Time to go to work."

"Hey, where are you going?" Matthew called after him, still gripping Lovino's plate in his hand. He held it up and waved it in the air, ignoring the crumbs that dropped to the floor. "I'm not washing your plate."

"Your turn for the dishes," Lovino replied curtly, tossing Napolitano up in the air and catching him easily.

Matthew squeezed the sponge in his hand. "Right," he grumbled.

How the hell had he even gotten into this mess?

"Now you better hurry your ass up, or we'll be late. Again. Because of you."

Matthew squeezed the sponge even tighter, watching Lovino retreat into his bedroom with Napolitano.

What a bastard.

* * *

**A/N **;; **Tell Me Something I Don't Know **will probably be one of the first stories I update once I have my internet set up in my new apartment. I really have a good feeling about this story, and it amuses me, very much so. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it.

Neapolitan Mastiffs, by the way, are fucking adorable.

Napolitano, current president of Italy… **Welcome to Fanfiction!**

Stay awesome, guys.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N **;; Thank you guys so much for all the wonderful reviews! I got seven reviews – that's much better than perhaps the two I was expecting! Thanks again to all those who reviewed, as well as alerted and favourited the story! I'm glad you guys are enjoying this story thus far.

* * *

**Tell Me Something I Don't Know**

**…o…**

**Chapter Two**

**…o…**

* * *

Matthew swung the door to the Marionette Café open, carefully carrying Napolitano, who was situated in his arms, inside as Lovino followed shortly after him, looking just as irritated as he had when they had left the flat. Then again, Lovino _always _looked at least mildly irritated, so Matthew couldn't really say he was surprised. The Canadian moved some of still damp hair out of his eyes as he entered, looking around the café, noticing the few people already situated amongst the dark tables and colourful leather chairs.

Normally, the Marionette wouldn't allow dogs inside, but because Napolitano was such a behaved puppy – something that Matthew took a lot of pride in and showed off about to all the other dog owners he would pass by on his and Napolitano's daily walks – and apparently because Lovino was on good terms with the owner, and had pulled a couple of string, the dog was allowed to roam around as he pleased. Not to mention that a puppy was good for business, too. It brought in more families with children, and they were the real spenders. The owner had even given Napolitano a trinket for his collar with the café's logo on it, for marketing purposes.

Matthew set Napolitano on the ground gently as Lovino walked past him towards the café's open kitchen, where some of the customers could choose to sit and watch the chefs prepare their food and coffee, if they so wished to. One of the other employees behind the counter looked up at their approach, wearing the same uniform they were, save for a few changes to compliment her femininity; a dark skirt to their dark slacks, and a black vest over a white blouse.

"Good morning, Matthew, Lovino," Belle piped up happily, bright green eyes flickering up towards them, one of her hands absently flipping through one of the pages of the magazine in her lap.

Lovino nodded at her in acknowledgement as he walked past her and immediately set to working, taking one of the dishes of food the chefs had prepared and setting it on a tray. Matthew, on the other hand, walked around the counter and went to stand behind Belle, ruffling her hair slightly as he peeked over her shoulder to see what exactly she was reading. "Good morning, Belle," he greeted cheerfully. "What are you looking at?"

Belle mock scowled at him, raising one of her own small hands to ruffle his blond hair in return, tangling her fingers in the soft waves. Her other hand went up to adjust her bright green headband, pushing it slightly higher up her scalp. "_'Ten Ways to Make Him Scream Your Name in Bed_,'" she said, not embarrassed in the slightest, flipping to the next page. "It's pretty interesting. I would recommend it – but I know most of the moves already." She shrugged.

Matthew did her the favour of blushing for her, gaping slightly, unsure of what to say. Lovino must have caught on to their conversation, because he only rolled his eyes and sent a disapproving frown at Belle and Matthew, shaking his head as he walked away to serve the food. Perhaps Matthew was totally lacking in the art of social skills, but wouldn't it be considered embarrassing to be caught reading an article such as that in a public place? He supposed the times had changed, but even so… "Oh, uh, that's nice…" he muttered.

Belle only grinned up at him and pinched his cheek. "You're so cute, Mattie. I'm just kidding."

There was the sound of soft laughter behind him, and Matthew looked over his shoulder curiously, spying Elizabeta, Belle's flatmate, fixing up some of the cakes that were displayed. She stood up straight, tucking a strand of long brown hair behind her ear, looking over her work, seemingly satisfied with it. "She's only half kidding, really. She's got a date tonight," the Hungarian woman supplied, dusting off her hands on her apron.

"Really?" Matthew asked curiously, looking back at Belle, who had gone back to reading her article. "But… wait, didn't you…? Uh, that other guy…"

"Lovino and my older brother… scared him off…" Belle answered, slightly sheepish. She rubbed the back of her neck uncomfortably. "Neither of them really approved."

Matthew nodded in understanding, sympathetic towards Belle's situation. Her older brother, if the occasion called for it, could be quite intimidating. He was one of the most protective brothers Matthew had ever seen – though his own brother came in a close second, as strained as their relationship sometimes was – and Lars' protectiveness didn't only apply for his sister, either. Matthew himself had gotten the treatment a couple times as well. Sometimes, he felt as though he had never really left Alfred. He met enough people that were similar enough to his brother that it was like Alfred was constantly with him, whether Matthew wanted him to be there or not. "Lars does have that effect on people," Matthew agreed. "How long were you two guys together?"

And Matthew couldn't really say that he wasn't surprised that Lovino had pitched in with Lars' efforts, either. He wasn't entirely sure of the past between Lovino and Belle, but he knew they had something together, though whether or not that something was anything significant, he didn't know. He knew they on good terms, at the very least. Elizabeta had never been able to tell him the full story, and Matthew didn't even want to think about asking Lovino himself. He had tried asking Belle, but she had only suggesting talking to Lovino about it, and that was just impossible. But what he did know was that the Italian was just as protective of Belle as Lars was, and God help anyone who didn't treat Belle with the utmost respect.

But that went for all of them, mostly, whether or not Lovino was doing the defending or not. Those customers who didn't have respect for the employees of the Marionette Café usually got hot coffee spilled on their clothes, food intentionally spilled into their laps, and were always, without fail, cussed out by the Marionette's perpetually angry server before being thrown out by Elizabeta.

Needless to say, regular goers of the café knew enough not to screw around with any of its employees, unless they wanted stained clothes and burned skin.

"Six days," Elizabeta answered for Belle, adjusting the orange flower in her hair and sending the two blonds a sweet little smile. Unlike Belle, who couldn't keep a boyfriend that her brother and/or Lovino didn't scare away, Elizabeta had been seeing someone steadily for the past two years, if Matthew remembered correctly. He really wasn't surprised that whichever lucky guy Elizabeta was dating stayed around that long, either, if looks mattered at all. The Hungarian woman was beautiful, with peaches and cream skin, fiery green eyes, long, slightly curly brunette hair, and a figure other women would kill for. She was a prime example of natural beauty.

"Good luck with your date, then," Matthew said, ruffling Belle's hair once again, ever the supportive friend/little brother figure. This time, Belle didn't bother to scowl, and only grinned slightly as she flipped another page in her magazine, muttering her thanks under her breath.

And before Matthew could say anything else, the little bell attached to the café's door rung, signaling the arrival of a new customer, and Matthew felt his shoulders being gripped by a pair of dainty hands, pushing him away from the kitchen and the source of his distractions quickly. "You've got a customer," Elizabeta said in his ear as she pushed him along, kicking the back of the Canadian's leg slightly as she noticed he wasn't picking up his own feet.

Matthew released a little sigh, reluctantly picking up his feet as Elizabeta continued to push him forward, not loosening her vice grip on his shoulders in the slightest. "I'm not allowed to waste any more time?" the Canadian asked, grinning slightly.

Elizabeta mirrored the grin, giving him one final push towards the table. "Just get to work, Matt," she said, laughing as she turned around and headed in the opposite direction.

"Yes, ma'am," Matthew muttered, giving a little one-handed salute to her retreating back before turning back towards the man who had just entered the café.

The man who had entered was wearing a loose white shirt and bright red shorts, a light sheen of sweat present on his sun-kissed skin, slightly curly hair falling into his eyes. He didn't look that old, Matthew thought as he approached the table the man had situated himself at. He couldn't have been anything past thirty, if even that, at the very most. He looked up at Matthew's approach, and the Canadian found his gaze locking onto bright green eyes, set above a perky nose and a wide, honest smile.

"Good morning," Matthew greeted, making sure to put enough cheer into his voice despite the earliness of the morning. It wasn't even nine o'clock yet. No one was supposed to sound this happy before at least ten thirty, at least. However, Matthew dismissed the thought from his mind, taking out his trusty notebook from the back pocket of his uniform, preparing a pen and resting it against the open pad. "Are you ready to order?"

The stellar brightness of the man's smile never faded as he looked back to the menu in his hand for a moment, humming thoughtfully. Matthew personally thought that the man was smiling far too happily so early in the morning, but kept his thoughts quiet. Instead, he watched as the man looked around the coffee shop with roving eyes. "Is…" he trailed off, and if Matthew didn't know any better, he would thought that the man sounded almost hesitant.

"Is…?" Matthew repeated confusedly, lowering his notepad.

"Is…" The man looked over his shoulder, and Matthew noticed his eyes light up with recognition. "Oh, I'm sorry, niño, but I usually have him take my order."

He raised a hand and pointed a sun-kissed finger over Matthew's shoulder. Slowly, the Canadian turned around, and his eyes followed the general direction the finger was pointing in, up to behind the counter, to where only one person stood, odd hair curl hanging in his face as he bent over the tabletop, pitcher of milk in his hand as he focused on whatever it was that he was working on.

Matthew turned back to the man, an eyebrow hiking up slightly. "Oh, you mean Lovino?" he asked.

The man nodded quickly, that bright smile still stuck on his face. "Si, Lovi!" he said. "Oh, it's no offense to you, niño. He knows how I get everything."

"It's not a problem at all," Matthew insisted, shaking his head, not offended in the least. In fact, Lovino had managed to unintentionally give him a few more minutes of break, and he had only just started working. It was a win-win situation, really. He pocketed his pen, asking the man to wait just a moment before rushing back towards the counter to inform Lovino of the change.

"Hey, Lovino," Matthew began, setting his notepad on the counter. When Lovino made no acknowledgement of his presence, Matthew lifted the notepad and smacked it down on the counter, the metal rings making a rather loud _clang _against the marble surface of the counter. Lovino didn't even flinch in response. "Hey," he repeated, taking a step closer to his flatmate.

The Italian's head was bowed in concentration, busy with his latte art for another customer. He held the small pitcher of milk in his hand, carefully moving it back and forth as he formed a milky, leaf-like pattern over the coffee. Matthew was rather impressed by Lovino's careful intricacy of the pattern. He hadn't known that Lovino had such steady hands. Of course, he knew his flatmate was an artist – not exactly like Feliciano was, exactly, but an artist nonetheless – but he had never been able to see any of Lovino's works. Whenever the Italian painted in the apartment, his bedroom door would be locked, and before Matthew even got the chance to ask if he could see anything Lovino had made, he would always rip up his work, growling frustratingly under his breath.

Matthew wondered how much Lovino hated his work if he wouldn't let it be seen by anybody other than himself.

Before Matthew had a chance to step any closer to the Italian, his hand raised to poke his shoulder in an attempt to get his attention, Lovino snapped, "What?" He still hadn't bothered to look up from his work. His dark eyebrows were knitted in concentration, and while another person might have slipped up and ruined the pattern from the sudden interruption – for example, Matthew himself – Lovino had managed to keep himself perfectly still, managing to keep his hands moving just as precisely as they had before Matthew had come near him.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Matthew mumbled, shooting his flatmate an apologetic glance. "Um, listen. You need to take this guy's order."

"Do it yourself, idiot," Lovino replied shortly.

Matthew shrugged off the insult. He was much too used to Lovino's way of speaking to be offended by it anymore. "Yeah, I was going to… but he specifically asked for you."

Lovino set the pitcher of milk back down on the counter. Matthew watched him as he set the cup on one of the plastic trays, and he almost felt bad that the intricate leaf was going to be ruined when someone drank it.

"Who is it?" the Italian asked, finally looking up at Matthew and meeting his eyes.

Matthew blinked and noticed that Lovino was staring at him, waiting patiently – for once. He might have taken a picture of this amazing sight if he had had the opportunity. This was truly a once in a lifetime experience. "Oh, it's that guy, over there," Matthew said instead, flicking a thumb over his shoulder towards the man sitting by the window, who was now chatting away on his phone.

Lovino's eyes followed the direction of Mathew's thumb until his eyes fell on the man in question. He didn't say anything, nor did his facial expression change in the slightest, but Matthew noticed a subtle change in his eyes. It was hard to place, and if he had known Lovino for any shorter of a time than he had and hadn't made a habit of occasionally trying to figure out his Italian flatmate, then he probably would have missed it. However, when Lovino looked back at him and found out that he was being watched, that little look disappeared instantly. Without another word, Lovino brushed past Matthew and headed towards the customer.

From the corner of his eye, Matthew watched as the man flipped his cellphone shut and looked up at Lovino, an even larger smile forming on his face than the one he had showed Matthew earlier when the Italian reached his table.

"Looks like Lovino's got a regular," Belle commented from the side.

It looked more like Lovino had another puppy, was more like it, Matthew thought, looking back to see Belle setting down her tray before once again shifting his eyes towards Lovino and the customer. The look of adoration in the man's eyes as he looked up at Lovino was so painfully obvious. There was no way in hell that Lovino hadn't noticed that.

Belle crossed her arms over her chest as she stood beside him, watching the two interact. "Something tells me he isn't just here for the food," she muttered, humming thoughtfully. Matthew turned his own eyes away from the pair, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable about the fact that he had been watching Lovino and the tanned man speak so blatantly. He and Belle could have at least tried to be a little bit more inconspicuous – they could have tried to hide behind a table, or maybe the counter.

Damning Belle for igniting his own curiosity once again, Matthew's eyes landed on Lovino and the man. He turned to the side slightly, looking to the pair out of the corner of his eye, hoping that his position wouldn't give away that he was very obviously watching his flatmate and the customer's every move.

The menu was laid out on the table, the man pointing out something he wanted, shooting attempted subtle glances at Lovino every once in a while, who just nodded as he spoke and took down his order. After a while, the man gradually raised a hand to set it on Lovino's arm, and even Matthew, despite the amount of distance between them, could see the slight stiffening of Lovino's shoulders. He thought the Italain would just shake the hand off – or slap it off, which was a more likely reaction – but, contrary to Matthew's expectations, he only paused, looked the man in the eye, and leaned closer over the table.

"Gah, I don't know!" Belle made a little frustrated sound, raising her hands in defeat, shoulders slumping dramatically. Matthew looked back at her, eyebrow hiking up to his hairline. "I'm not an expert in this kind of thing – that's Eliza's job." She shrugged slightly, taking one of the trays into her hands. "Maybe I'm just overthinking this," she muttered.

"If it makes you feel better, I don't know either," Matthew offered, matching the little smile Belle sent him over her shoulder as she walked away. The Canadian blinked, noticing that Lovino was already walking back towards the kitchen to give the man's order to the chef.

"So," Matthew began slowly as Lovino walked past him to hand the chef the slip of paper, hands linked behind his back. "You've got a regular, eh?"

Lovino turned back to look at him. "A what?" he asked, his voice irritable.

"Ah," Matthew mumbled, sheepishly looking away. "You know, a regular? Someone who will keep coming back?"

Lovino's hazel eyes narrowed before he pushed past Matthew once again. "Yeah, whatever," he muttered. "Get back to work."

* * *

It was nearly midnight when Lovino, Matthew and Napolitano arrived back at the apartment. Even Napolitano was wobbling shakily as Matthew took the keys out from his pocket, his drooping eyes making it hard for him to distinguish which key was the one for their apartment.

"Hurry up, you bastard," Lovino moaned, shutting his eyes and leaning against the wall to support his weight.

"I'm trying. Just give me a second," Matthew replied, grinding his teeth together in an attempt to keep himself awake. He could have fallen asleep in the hallway and had absolutely no reservations about it if he knew Lovino wouldn't try to kick his ass for doing so.

Matthew grinned tiredly as he finally located the correct key, shoving it into the knob and turning.

"I am so tired," Lovino muttered, slipping into the apartment the second the door was wide enough for him to fit through. Napolitano obediently followed after his owner, lying down beside the Italian's feet as he collapsed down on the couch with a groan.

Sighing, Matthew pulled the key out of the knob and closed the door behind him. He tossed the keys onto the coffee table before falling down onto the couch beside Lovino, quickly turning on the television with a press of the remote. He wasn't sure why exactly he wanted to watch TV when he was so damn sleepy, but it was a routine, and Matthew wasn't one to break routines.

Lovino grunted as Matthew sat beside him, and it looked as though he were standing to leave. However, after a moment, he just muttered a few words under his breath and shifted further over to the side, making it so that he and Matthew weren't sitting so close together, so that their arms weren't brushing against each other anymore. Not noticing this in the slightest, Matthew flipped through the channels, feeling his eyes drooping dangerously. Lovino picked up one of the decorative pillows and pressed it over his face. "I'm taking a shower first," he said, his words muffled by the pillow.

"Yeah, okay, sure," Matthew yawned, leaning back against the cushions.

Matthew skimmed through the channels and finally settled on a late night talk show. He laughed at some of the jokes, listened to the discussions about the latest news, but soon, his eyelids began to close on him. It happened several times, Matthew falling into a light sleep, before he would jolt and force his eyes open again and realize that he had fallen asleep again. However, before the Canadian could think to haul himself off the couch and make it to the bathroom or his bedroom, he closed his eyes one last time, and was dead to the world.

* * *

Matthew didn't know how long it had been since he had fallen asleep, but if it weren't for the soft movements near his ankles, he might have been able to sleep through the night and only wake up in the morning. He groaned softly, rubbing his eyes tiredly behind his glasses before looking down to see Napolitano shifting his weight so he could rest his head on Matthew's shoes. "Aww, Napo," the Canadian mumbled groggily. "Why'd you go and do that, huh? You woke me up…"

He was about to sit up and force himself towards the shower when he felt a peculiar weight on his shoulder.

Matthew looked to the side, curious to see what exactly was resting on his shoulder, and it was only shock that stopped him from doing a superhuman backflip away from the couch like the characters did in Alfred's video games that he played so much.

Lovino was leaning on his shoulder. The pillow he had put over his face was on the ground, perhaps having fallen over when the Italian had tilted over to Matthew while he slept. His cheek was pressed into Matthew's shoulder, his chin angled up to show parted lips and allowing escaped breaths to stroke Matthew's cheeks every couple of seconds, sending a hot blush springing across the Canadian's cheeks.

Matthew stiffened. "Uh, Lovino," he mumbled, too surprised to say much of anything else. He felt like jerking away, but then again, that might be too rude.

A small frown formed on Lovino's lips and he shifted his head against Matthew's shoulder, angling his chin just a little bit higher, making it so that his lips were dangerously close to brushing against Matthew's ear.

Not liking the chills that ran up his spine each time Lovino's breaths would tickle his ear as he breathed, Matthew knew it was time to get the Italian off him, whether he ended up waking up Lovino or not. Slowly, he tried to lower his shoulder, taking another decorative pillow in his hand. Maybe he could just lower his shoulder far enough, and then replace the pillow with it…

Nah…

Matthew jerked away from Lovino quickly, feeling uncomfortable with the Italian being so close to him after weeks of Lovino seemingly staying as far away from Matthew as he could, feeling uncomfortable with the strange feeling that had been gathering in his gut, and not very comfortable with losing all feeling in his arm. Lovino immediately fell to the side, his face falling onto the pillow. His hazel eyes shot open on impact, and he sat up quickly, looking around the apartment. Matthew tried and failed to suppress a snigger at the way one side of Lovino's hair, the side that had been leaning against his shoulder, was jutting up.

Matthew was unsuccessfully trying to muffle his laughter with a hand against his mouth when Lovino's eyes turned to him, a hard glare set on his face. "What?" he hissed.

"You were–" Matthew paused to catch his breath. "You were going to take a shower, remember?"

Lovino nodded jerkily, looking away from Matthew a moment after he spoke, groaning as he rubbed a hand over his face. He stood up off the couch, stepping over Napolitano as he headed for the shower, closing the bathroom door behind him with a hard slam.

And Matthew was left alone in the living room – save for Napolitano. He looked down at the dog, who was looking up at him in return, woken up by Lovino's sudden movements and the slamming of the door. "At least you don't use me as a pillow," Matthew mumbled, stroking the pup behind his dark ear.

Apparently, Matthew had spoken too soon, because the second he began to stroke the dog's ear, Napolitano laid back down on his feet and closed his eyes, snuffing. Matthew's shoulders fell dramatically in disappointment, somehow not at all surprised with his predicament.

He frowned slightly. "Nah, you two are the same."

* * *

**A/N **;; I can see Romano as the type of person to have decorative pillows on their couch or bed. He just strikes me as that way. I'm exactly sure why.

Behold my cafe naming skills. I'm an expert, clearly.

**Akakata7: **Thank you for the wonderful compliments! I love seeing repeated reviewers. Anyway, I'm glad that I was able to satisfy your cravings.

**Gardyloo: **I didn't even think about the crust of Italian bread… Okay, let's just say that Romano doesn't like eating the crusts of other breads that are not Italian. There. That fixes that, doesn't it? XD Frankly, I'm not a breadoligist, either – and do those even _exist_? Like, can you go to school for that kind of thing? (Oh, that was such a _stupid _question.) Thanks for your review! It made me laugh.

Gah, I haven't made my move yet. I'm still stuck in Manitoba, and the mosquitoes are horrible! Like, it was fine until like two days ago! Now, I can't even go inside without being swarmed. Ugggh. I hate bug spray. I hate mosquitoes. I don't really like bugs in general.

Okay, enough complaining. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter – I made it double the length of the first chapter, just for you guys.

Stay awesome, guys.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N **;; This chapter is kind of… eh… at some parts, but I wanted to get this uploaded right now. I'm going to be busy for the next little while, and I didn't really think I would have a chance to upload this unless I did it now. Anyway, if any of you guys see something in here that really needs to be improved, tell me in a review. I'll get to it as soon as I have some time.

Guys… you guys… I cannot believe the amount of love that Napolitano is getting. I am speechless – like jaw open, eyebrow raised, confusion evident _speechless._

* * *

**Tell Me Something I Don't Know**

**…o…**

**Chapter Three**

**…o…**

* * *

"So, why are we here again, Mattie?" Belle yawned, leaning against Matthew for support. She looked up at him through thick lashes, frowning, green eyes blinking tiredly. Her blonde hair was ruffled, hardly looking as neat as it had that morning when Matthew had arrived for work, and she had all but given up on using her headband to hold her hair back, instead dragging it behind her as she accompanied Matthew through the grocery store. "Can't you do this tomorrow?" she muttered, adjusting herself against his shoulder. Another yawn accompanied her question.

However, seeing as Matthew wasn't that taller than Belle was, her lazy action of leaning against him nearly toppled the both of them over. Matthew, luckily, managed to grab a grip of the shelf in front of them before he could fall completely. He shifted Belle off of his arm as he straightened himself once again, frowning. "Watch it," he mumbled, his voice barely above a quiet whisper, making Belle strain her ears in an attempt to hear him. He was just as tired as Belle was, but at least he didn't use her as a stand to rest on.

Belle giggled quietly at his subtle irritation, bending down and picking up the bag of chips that had fallen out of Matthew's basket. She offered him a little smile in compensation, patting his arm gently. "Alright, Matt, I'm sorry. I'm just a little tired, y'know?"

'A little' would be an understatement, but the Canadian didn't bother to mention that. 'Exhausted' would be a better word in this case. "It's okay," Matthew nodded wearily. He understood how she felt completely. And he said as much to her. He looked through the different loaves of bread, trying to remember which was the one Lovino liked. Was it white, or was it wheat? "Um, I can't remember if he likes wheat bread or not," he murmured to Belle, looking for some sort of answer from her. If anybody knew what kind of things Lovino liked, it would be Belle, right? There was only so much he could learn about Lovino from just subtly observing him when Matthew thought he wasn't paying attention.

"Who are you talking about?" she questioned. "Lovino?"

Matthew made a sound of affirmation. "Yeah, _him._"

Belle shrugged. "Does it matter?"

Did it really? Matthew asked himself, frowning. Yes, it did, he decided a moment later. Who knew who Lovino would act if he ended up getting the wrong bread? Well, he would probably throw a fit, call him a useless bastard who wasn't able to follow simple directions, and go out himself and get what he wanted. Okay, so maybe that was exaggerating a little bit, but that was beside the point. Lovino's reaction wouldn't be that far off from his guess. "Yes, it does," Matthew answered. "If I choose the wrong one, he would probably beat me with it."

The Belgian woman's eyebrow cocked. From what Matthew could see out of the corner of his eye, she looked honestly surprised. "Wait, he does that?"

Matthew whirled around, eyes wide. She hadn't actually believed him, had she? His Italian flatmate wasn't so abusive that Matthew couldn't stand living with him. Sure, Lovino had smacked him with a carrot once before because he hadn't been paying attention to the stew, but that had only happened _one time. _From then on, Lovino had only threatened him, but had never gone through with anything particularly drastic.

But before Matthew had a chance to change his words, Belle was shaking her head, continuing with, "Wasting perfectly good food!" She tried to hide her grin, not at all succeeding. "I thought Lovino was better than that."

Matthew rolled his eyes playfully, turning around to face the bread once again. What to choose, what to choose…?

"I'm just kidding!" Belle laughed, trying to rub the sleep out of her eyes. However, she seemed to suddenly think of something, because she blinked, and then pinned him with a serious look. "Matt, seriously, does he treat you badly?" she asked, concern evident in her voice. "I could talk to him, if you wanted me to…? I could try to knock some sense into him. He might listen." She shrugged helplessly. "You know what he's like."

Matthew's frown deepened, and he finally decided to pick the white bread. If Lovino was going to throw a fit and not eat it, then at least he and Napolitano would. "Ah, not really," he answered honestly. He didn't want to exaggerate; the last thing he wanted was to cause even more problems between Lovino and himself. They had enough to deal with already. "He has his moments, but… All in all, he's not so bad."

"He isn't a bad roommate," Belle agreed. "He's capable of being kind, you know." Matthew must have looked near incredulous, because she followed up with, "You just don't know him that well."

The Canadian paused, scrunching his eyebrows together as he tried to think of some kind of reply or excuse to cover _why _exactly he didn't know Lovino that well. Belle, however, noticed his hesitation before he could think of something appropriate, leaning closer. "Wait… you do talk to Lovino, right?"

"Of course I do!" Matthew replied quickly – too quickly for his own liking – hurriedly leaving the aisle. He was pretty sure it was his turn to feed Napolitano, and he didn't want to make the puppy wait. And besides, asking for milk on the other end of the table was considered talking to someone, right?

"In real, full-length conversations, right?"

"Uh, yes," he lied over his shoulder. They talked in full-length _sentences_, anyway.

Belle quickly followed after him, catching up to him relatively easily. "I mean, you do know he's allergic to chicken, right?"

Matthew whipped around. "Really?"

The Belgian woman smiled, shaking her head slowly. He felt like a child who had just gotten caught with their hand in the cookie jar, with the way Belle was looking at him. "No, Matt, he isn't. But this only proves that you don't know a thing about him," she concluded, poking him in the chest rather forcefully. "You've been living with him for over a month, and all you know about him is his family name and that he loves tomatoes!"

Lovino tended to make a regular habit of snacking on tomatoes during his downtime, so of course he knew _that _about his flatmate. He was pretty sure that most of the café's regular customers knew Lovino loved tomatoes. It was only common knowledge, really. His regular seemed to know that, at least. The Canadian had heard Elizabeta and Belle gossiping about it in the storage room. Apparently, Lovino's regular occasionally brought him a ripe tomato that, according to what Matthew had heard, was grown in his own garden.

"Well, he doesn't talk!" Matthew defended. It wasn't exactly his fault that Lovino didn't enjoy socializing with other people. He hardly saw his flatmate interact with anyone besides him and Feliciano outside of the café. He had spoken to Alfred once, too, but only long enough to call his brother a bastard and ask what the hell he was calling for. Oh, yes, Lovino was quite the social butterfly.

Belle rolled her eyes skyward, placing her hands on her hips. She pinned him with a disapproving look. "That's because you don't talk _to_ him."

"What?" Matthew replied indignantly, looking at her over his shoulder. Well, that wasn't fair, not at all. "I have to start all the conversations? Why?"

"Yes, because–"

Matthew stopped walking, raising a hand to hold it in front of Belle's face. "It's okay, Belle," he said softly, shrugging. "I've kind of given up on interacting with Lovino, anyway." He looked out of the corner of his eye, looking towards the nearest register. It was open, thankfully. "This job I have now… it's only temporary," he continued, "until I find another, more stable job. After that, it's bye-bye Lovino, and bye-bye Belle." He laughed.

Well, that was his game plan, anyway. He hadn't spent years in college and graduated just to become a waiter. It was a temporary job, until he could settle into the city and get a proper one. He considered himself lucky that he had been even able to land the waiting job at the then newly opened café, whose owner had agreed to pay half the rent for his apartment. He had been actually excited to start – the pay wasn't bad, his rent was pretty much covered completely, and he was going to have one of the other waiters as a flatmate – but of course, that excitement had taken a little nosedive when he actually met his flatmate for the first time.

"Fine," Belle sighed. If Matthew didn't know her any better than he did, he might have actually thought that she was giving up on this subject. But of course… she wasn't going to. He could at least see that much in her eyes as she looked up at him, helping him unload the food from the basket. "But if–"

Matthew's head suddenly snapped towards the dairy aisle, feeling an awful premonition lower over his head. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying it as his eyes scanned over all the groceries he had already picked up. "Crap, I forgot the milk!"

Belle looked confused. "What?"

"The milk," Matthew repeated. "Lovino is going to _kill me _if I don't buy some!"

He was already halfway to the dairy section, running as fast as he could, when Belle turned back and yelled, "I thought you didn't care about him!"

Expertly ignoring her comment, Matthew swiveled between the aisles before he finally reached his destination. It wasn't Lovino that he cared about it; it was actually the prospect of living another day. And living another day wasn't going to be possible if he didn't buy the milk.

However, as he skidded to a stop in front of the milk, he felt his thoughts come to a screeching halt. Well, _shit. _Low fat, skimmed, two percent, four percent, creamy… which one did Lovino like, again?

"Low fat."

Oh, right! That's what it was!

Matthew turned around, nearly falling back on the cartons of milk when he saw Lovino standing in front of him, one hand in the pocket of his dark jeans, while the other held a grocery basket. However, that wasn't the part that had almost caused Matthew to trip. No, it was the fact that Lovino's lips had twitched up at his stunt – as in, for the first time since he had moved in with him, Matthew could see Lovino _smiling. _

"Oh, uh, Lovino," Matthew began, reaching for the low fat milk behind him. "Why are you here? I thought you would be out somewhere else."

"Groceries," Lovino said flatly, raising his basket.

Matthew raised an eyebrow. Lovino usually never bothered to do anything unless he was 'scheduled' to do it, never mind covered for any of Matthew's responsibilities. "But isn't it my turn for the groceries?"

Lovino shrugged dismissively. He looked away. "I thought you would forget, you bastard."

The Canadian frowned, letting out a low sigh. Of course that was the reason. He shouldn't have been expecting anything more than that. "Thanks for the faith."

Lovino shrugged once again, easily setting his basket down on the white tiled floor. "But since you've got it done already, I'll leave."

Someone cleared their throat a few feet away from them. Both Lovino and Matthew turned simultaneously to see Belle tapping her foot impatiently, her arms crossed in front of her chest. "Have you guys decided yet?" she asked sweetly, her voice contrasting with the frown on her face as she looked between the two men in front of her. "There's a long line of old ladies waiting for you to pay, Mattie." She turned to look at Lovino exclusively, and her lips twitched slightly. "Hi, Lovi. I'm glad you're here. You can stay with Matthew."

He sent her a warning look. "No, you stay with him."

Belle's eyebrow cocked. "He's your flatmate, not mine," she said flatly, walking away without a second glance. "I'll see you two tomorrow!"

Matthew stared after her. Evil woman.

Lovino only sighed, watching Belle turn the corner before he headed towards the check-out lanes. "Hurry up, bastard," he called over his shoulder, hands stuck in his pockets and basket abandoned.

The Canadian quickly caught up with him. "Since you're here, want to split the cost?" he asked hopefully, smiling slightly as Lovino scoffed.

"Shut the fuck up."

Oh well, it was worth a shot, Matthew supposed.

* * *

The walk back home was mostly silent, save for the cans and jars clinking against each other in the plastic bags. Matthew held the grocery bags in his arms while Lovino easily strolled beside him, his hands still tucked in his pockets, gaze still set forward. He hadn't bothered to ask to help Matthew with the groceries, but at this point, the Canadian was used to it. He was strong enough to handle their things, anyway. It wasn't as though he necessarily _needed _Lovino's help, but it still would have been nice for his flatmate to at least _offer._

Matthew swatted those thoughts away, shifting his focus to something else – Lovino himself, and not his lack of manners. Walking beside the Italian gave Matthew a pretty good idea of how tall Lovino was. The Italian wasn't exactly short, but Matthew guessed he was maybe an inch and a half shorter than the Canadian himself. At least he won against Lovino in that aspect.

They were turning a corner when Matthew remembered what Belle had suggested to him. He snuck a hesitant glance at Lovino before deciding to wing it. He cleared his throat. "Uh… I'm twenty-three, you know," he said from the corner of his mouth, turning his eyes in his flatmate's direction, watching for his reaction.

He didn't expect Lovino to hear him, or if he did, he had expected the Italian to simply ignore him. However, contrary to his expectations, Lovino actually glanced at him, acknowledging his presence. "So?"

Matthew couldn't help the urge to roll his eyes. "In case you don't know basic human customs, you tell me how old you are now."

He almost wanted Lovino to say some snarky remark in response so he could continue to proudly show off his recently unused sarcasm, but much to Matthew's disappointment, Lovino didn't bother to answer at all. So, Matthew pressed on. "I graduated from college last year," he continued. "I took journalism."

"Good for you."

Matthew's shoulders fell. Why had he even bothered to try in the first place?

"Never mind," he muttered. At least he could tell Belle that he _tried_, and if the conversation went his way, he could even add a little '_I told you so_.'

* * *

Once they reached their apartment, Matthew quickly set the heavy bags of groceries on the kitchen island, shaking out his hands before beginning to unload. He looked over at Lovino questioningly, who glanced back at him and then quickly looked away, as if pondering whether or not he should help unpack. However, the thought apparently went nowhere, as Lovino shrugged a second later and went over to the fridge instead.

Matthew didn't really care either way. "So…" he began curiously. "What did you do after work?"

"Nothing," Lovino intoned, taking out a bottle of orange juice.

"That's not what I heard," Matthew replied, a sheepish grin crossing his face as Lovino slammed the fridge door closed.

The Italian glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Oh, what did you hear?"

"I heard you were on a _date_." This was all according to Elizabeta, of course.

Lovino easily twisted the cap off the bottle and leaned against the counter, looking at his flatmate, considering. "If you already knew, why did you ask?" he asked irritably.

Matthew shrugged, taking out the jars of jam – strawberry and blueberry, Lovino's favourites – and mayonnaise. "I'm trying this thing out, you know, called conversations," he finally explained, taking pleasure in the slightest bit of surprise that crossed Lovino's face. "Belle told me I should try it out with you."

Lovino made some kind of noncommittal grunt, taking a sip of his juice.

Tucking the plastic bags away for later use, Matthew set to putting away all the jars in their proper cupboards. "So, how was it?" he asked.

Lovino rolled his eyes as he set his juice down. "I don't want to answer."

Sighing, Matthew closed the last cupboard. "At least tell me if she was pretty or not," he prompted.

As if not hearing him correctly, Lovino straightened up a bit against the counter. "What?" he asked, his voice nearly bewildered as he tilted his head to the side, frowning.

Wondering if he had perhaps said something wrong – as he tended to do when Lovino was involved – Matthew raised an eyebrow. "Uh, how was your date? Was she nice?" he asked again, a bit slower in case Lovino suddenly decided to throw the bottle at him, or something. He wouldn't put it past his flatmate. Matthew looked away, not meeting his eyes – that's what you did with angry bulls. He figured that tactic might come in some use here.

Once again, his flatmate didn't answer. Of course, this was normal behavior, but this silence felt particularly different compared to the others. While most of the time Lovino kept silent because he didn't want to say anything, this one felt as though… Lovino didn't know what to say in the first place. Matthew shot a quick glance at him out of the corner of his eye, noticing that his brow was furrowed as the grip on his juice tightened ever so slightly.

Had he said something wrong again? Matthew cleared his throat nervously. "So… the date was that bad?" he asked, trying to lighten the atmosphere even a little bit.

As if snapping out of an odd trance, Lovino looked up, straight at him, his eyes locking with Matthew's and not breaking the stare. There was something in that look that Matthew could not read, or maybe it was just the bad, dim lighting that was making him think that.

"I'm going to bed," Lovino answered evenly, steering clear of the subject altogether. He turned and left the kitchen before Matthew could say anymore to him.

The Canadian watched his flatmate leave, completely and utterly confused.

At least Lovino hadn't thrown the bottle at him.

* * *

**A/N **;; I can see Canada and Belgium having a cute little sibling-like relationship. I think it's adorable.

**PassionSmile: **I'll be honest here… Your review, when I first read it after my phone alerted it to me at three in the morning, made absolutely _no sense _to me. Frankly, it made me have a giant 'wat' moment. But other than that, when I read it again later, everything became clear – somewhat. Thanks to your compliments – even at three in the morning, it made me laugh a little, so thanks for that. Something about atomic cow utters to you, too. ;D

**Thing2BK: **Thanks so much! It's great to get a review from an author I admire. (Ah, is that weird to admit here?) I actually drew a lot of inspiration for the way I write Romano from _Operation: Sweet and Sour_, which I was always intending to review before it was completed but never really got around to it. That was the story that really got me into Romanada, and I'll have to leave my thoughts on it whenever I have some time to read through it again. Anyway, I'm rambling, so thanks again!

Stay awesome, guys.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N **;; More Napolitano than usual in this chapter for you guys. Enjoy him.

This chapter is so cliché, it's almost funny.

Also, to all my American readers, you guys are all lookin' real good today. Very independent.

I lit a sparkler for Independence Day. It's the best I can offer.

* * *

**Tell Me Something I Don't Know**

**…o…**

**Chapter Four**

**…o…**

* * *

Matthew's worn sneakers were propped up on the coffee table as he skimmed through the channels, unable to stay focused on one program. Napolitano was lost in the world of sleep beside him, his furry head resting on his paws as he gave a small grunt every few minutes. Meanwhile, Matthew would be looking at the clock every third second, or in the direction of Lovino's bedroom door. It was nearing eight, and Lovino hadn't come out once. Usually, it was the Italian who was yelling at Matthew to hurry up.

There was something wrong.

When he finally couldn't stand waiting any longer, Matthew stood up, the sudden movement making Napolitano's eyes open blearily as they traced the Canadian's movements. Matthew walked over to Lovino's bedroom door slowly, hesitating in front of the door, his fist already raised in preparation to knock.

He had been inside Lovino's bedroom perhaps all of five times in the two months they had been living together; the same applied for Lovino and Matthew's room. When he had moved in, there had been unwritten rules set; rules such as how personal rooms were considered a restricted zone unless it was something especially important, and how everything on the right side of the refrigerator was Matthew's, everything on the left side was Lovino's, and everything in the middle was considered neutral.

Realizing that yes, he had only been in Lovino's room, at the most, three times, Matthew couldn't help but wonder what exactly was inside it. The last time he had been inside, he had only stuck his head in to remind Lovino of work, and he hadn't exactly taken a look around. He wondered if Lovino secretly had a hidden laboratory concealed behind a bookshelf inspired from a childhood love of _Dexter's Laboratory_.

Then again, Lovino didn't exactly seem like the type…

"Whatever," Matthew mumbled under his breath. If Lovino was going to throw something in his face, he hoped it was something that wouldn't bruise too badly. He didn't need Belle or Elizabeta questioning him on his abusive relationship with his flatmate. He reached for the doorknob, turning it slowly as he said what would perhaps be the last words he ever spoke. "Here goes nothing."

There was a window near Lovino's bed, pouring bright, warm morning sunlight into the room. There was a bookshelf situated beside a desk, already filled corner to corner with thick books, and suddenly, the theory of a secret laboratory didn't seem so farfetched – but then he remembered that the apartment wasn't large enough hold a secret laboratory, so that theory was scratched.

Lovino himself was on the bed, lying on his side and facing the wall. His shoulders were hunched up to his neck and his dark comforter was up to his ears, his head just barely poking above it. Matthew noticed that, even in sleep, Lovino's brow was still furrowed – what a weird guy. He didn't really want to disturb him – if Lovino was bad in the mornings, how would he be like immediately after being woken up? – but the possibility of losing his job quickly overtook whatever hesitations he had.

"Hey, Lovino," he said, placing his hand on his shoulder, shaking him a bit. "Lovino, wake up."

Lovino blearily turned his head back to look up at who was waking him up, and when his eyes locked on Matthew's face, he immediately jolted up and pressed himself against the headboard while Matthew quickly retracted his head, confused. Lovino's bare shoulders rose and fell as he breathed heavily. "Wh-what?" he asked, hazel eyes snapping up to meet Matthew's own blue ones.

Matthew blinked. "Um, we have to go to work," he explained lamely, starting to feel the hints of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Had he really scared Lovino that badly? "We're already late as it is."

Lovino coughed as his shoulders relaxed. "Shit, what time is it?"

"Umm…" Matthew glanced at the clock. "Five past eight." He leaned a bit closer, taking in Lovino's state. "Hey, are you alright?"

Lovino's tanned cheeks were flushed, and his lips a darker shade of red than usual. He held the comforter tightly against himself as he reached a slightly shaking hand out to grab the clock from the table. "Fucking hell," he muttered. He dropped the clock carelessly, jumping as it clattered to the floor, bringing his arm close to the rest of his body once again.

"Are you sick?" Matthew asked, alarm in his voice as watched Lovino closely. Before he could think about what he was doing, he instinctively reached a hand out and pressed it against Lovino's forehead, like any other normal human being would. He was used to playing doctor for Alfred, after all.

And if Matthew weren't so focused on his task, he would have felt Lovino immediately stiffen beneath his touch. However, because he didn't, Lovino quickly swatted Matthew's hand off his forehead, glaring hotly. "Don't fucking touch me," he growled. "I'm getting up already."

He made a move to get up, but Matthew pushed him back before he could complete his movement. "You're sick!" Matthew protested, sitting on the bed. "You're burning!"

"No fucking shit," Lovino snapped in reply, throwing the comforter off his body – and immediately reached to grab them back as a round of shivers racked his body. "Fuck."

Matthew clucked his tongue, trying to hold a smile in. It wasn't polite to laugh at the sick. "Smooth."

Lovino's glare increased in intensity. He opened his mouth to say some sort of scathing retort when he noticed the ball of wrinkles that was playing with one of his shirts lying on the ground. "What the– Napolitano's here? Get him out!"

Matthew looked over his shoulder towards the dog. He wasn't ripping the shirt to shreds – Matthew had taught him better than that – so what was the problem? He turned back to Lovino, raising a questioning eyebrow. "Why?"

"He might get sick!"

Matthew wasn't sure if a dog was even capable of catching a human sickness, nor whether or not it was true. However, he followed Lovino's demands – it was a sick man's wish, after all. He frowned and picked up the pup before he could start throwing the shirt around the room. "Wow," he commented as he closed Lovino's door behind Napolitano. "I didn't hear you caring that much about _my _health."

Lovino snorted. "That's because Napolitano didn't know any better – he was just following the idiot who walked into the room."

"Haha, you're hilarious. You're not going to work today," Matthew instructed with no small degree of firmness, switching the topic when he noticed Lovino's feeble attempts to get out of bed. Geez, he would never understand how the Italian's mind worked. He had a good excuse not to go to work, and yet he still wanted to? Hell, Matthew wanted to be sick sometimes just so he could have an excuse to stay in bed all day.

"I am," Lovino said stubbornly.

"No, you're not," Matthew insisted, making his way to Lovino's window and shutting the blinds, dimming the room. "Do you have any medication around here?"

"Yeah, I just took some," Lovino muttered, finally giving up and shutting his eyes as he jerked a thumb at the containers of pills on his desk.

Matthew looked down at Lovino, and it took a lot to not start laughing. A sick person wasn't exactly a funny sight, but most people tended to be different when they were sick. Usually, his Italian flatmate was a hard, angry robot – but having a fever just goes to show that even robots have their bugs. Lovino was assuredly more agreeable when he was sick. "So, you'll be fine while I'm gone?" Matthew asked, doing a fabulous job keeping the laughter out of his voice, if he had anything to say about it.

Lovino flipped on his side and squinted at him. "Yeah, fuck off. Go to work," he groaned. "Stop talking to me."

"Yeah, sure." Matthew turned towards the door. "If you need anything, call me."

"I can take care of myself," Lovino replied indignantly.

The Canadian shook his head slowly as he stepped out of Lovino's room, closing the door behind him. "Whatever you say."

* * *

"I can't believe Lovino didn't come to work today," Elizabeta mused during the restaurant's lunch hour, flipping through Belle's newest magazine. "How'd he get sick? What did he do?"

"I dunno," Matthew answered. "But I think he went on another date last night." The Canadian shrugged, as if that was a reasonable explanation. He reached forward, spooning some of the pasta the chefs had made onto his plate. "He came home pretty late."

Elizabeta took the bowl from him and set it beside her. "Wow," she whistled, impressed. She leaned closer to Matthew, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Is that like his third or fourth one?" she asked, something like delight sparkling in her eyes.

"Mmhmm," Matthew answered, digging into his pasta. Ah, he loved carbonara, but he had to admit that Lovino made it better than the chefs at the café. It wasn't often that Lovino was willing to share his homemade pasta dishes with him, but when he was, the food was always to die for. He liked it fresh best, but the little bowls of leftovers Lovino would sneak into Matthew's side of the fridge were just as good. "Well, I think so, but I'm not sure if it's the same person every time."

"But if it is…" Elizabeta smiled. "That's a good sign."

Matthew nodded his agreement, but set his fork down, looking at the woman beside him curiously. "But has he told you anything about the girl, though? I ask all the time – but he won't even tell me her name!"

Elizabeta's eyebrows shot up. Her fork hung in the air in surprise. "Wait… what? The girl?"

"Yeah," Matthew nodded in confirmation, turning back to his pasta for a moment. "He's so secretive. It only makes me want to find out answers even more," he admitted. That was one of the many things Matthew didn't particularly like about himself. As a whole, he could count himself apathetic on most times, but he also had the curiosity that could give a cat a run for its money. "Maybe she's the _one_," he concluded thoughtfully, wiping the sauce off the corner of his mouth.

Elizabeta laughed, an amused grin curling her lips upwards. "Well, maybe Lovino's not answering your questions because–"

"Hey!"

Matthew's head snapped away from Elizabeta to see Belle burst through the door of the café, another magazine tucked under her arm. "Lovi's absent today?" she asked as she looked around the café curiously, dropping her things beside her. She scurried forward to take a seat beside Elizabeta, sending both her and Matthew an apologetic glance for being late.

"Yeah, he's sick," Matthew explained for about the fifth time that day. He turned back to Elizabeta. "I'm sorry, what were you saying before _Belle _so rudely interrupted us?"

Elizabeta's eyes twinkled. She shook her head and turned to Belle, who swatted Matthew upside the head with her magazine. "You know what, never mind…" she said, smiling. "I'm sure Lovino has his reasons."

"I bet they're not great ones," Matthew mumbled, rubbing the back of his head.

* * *

Matthew arrived back at the flat carrying two heavy plastic bags, one in either of his hands. He had tried letting Napolitano carry one of the bags by his teeth like all those dogs in the movies did, but that hadn't worked out very well. He kicked the door open, keys held in between his teeth, to find the television on and Lovino lying on the couch, wrapped in his dark comforter and fast asleep, his head ducked in his shoulder.

Matthew closed the door behind him, kicking the door shut and his shoes off. He walked towards the couch, picking up one of the decorative pillows and launching it at Lovino. "Wake up," he said flatly.

Lovino just groaned and turned away from him, pulling the comforter over his head. "Fuck off."

"You should be grateful," Matthew grumbled, sitting down on the other side of the couch as he unpacked the bags he had brought. "I got the chef to make you some tomato soup, and I bought some tea, and more orange juice – and Chinese food for me."

Lovino lifted one eye. "You didn't have to do this, bastard. I'm getting better," he mumbled.

"Well, you should have told me that before I did all of this, right?" Matthew said dryly, although he couldn't say he was all that annoyed. He had done this kind of thing for Alfred and then later, his roommates in college, all the time. It didn't bother him. "And besides, if you're not having the soup, Napolitano and I will." Matthew glanced over at Napolitano, lying in front of the television and watching his owner and the Canadian interact. "Right, Napo?"

The pup yipped in agreement.

"See," Matthew said pointedly. He held the soup thermos out. "So, are you having it or not?"

Lovino stared fixedly between him and the thermos, and when he still didn't say anything, Matthew sighed and turned the cap, releasing the warm aroma into the air. "I don't know about you," he said smugly, nodding approvingly. "But that smells pretty awesome."

There was an obvious weakening in Lovino's defiant stare as his shoulders relaxed. Grudgingly, he took the soup thermos. "Thanks," he mumbled, looking away. His cheeks flushed a tinge darker, most likely from the fever, Matthew thought.

"You know why you're sick, right?" Matthew asked, letting out a little laugh as he opened his own food.

Lovino regarded him with a flat stare as he twisted the cap. "Tell me, I'd love to get an answer from someone who took _journalism _in college."

Before Matthew could snap a response, he felt surprise register in his mind first. So, Lovino had actually been listening to him that night walking back from the grocery store. He had thought Lovino had only been saying things so that Matthew would shut up faster.

When the surprise passed, irritation settled in, and Matthew frowned. "Do you have something against journalism majors?" he asked.

Lovino rolled his eyes as he poured some soup into the cup. "Just say whatever the fuck you want to say."

"What? Like you took medicine?" Matthew scoffed, his chopsticks digging into the small box of friend rice.

The Italian grunted and took a sip of his food, immediately jerking it away from himself when he felt the scalding heat on the tip of his tongue.

"Be careful, it's hot," Matthew added, feeling the burn of Lovino's glare. "So, anyway." He set his box of rice down and leaned back against the sofa. "You don't need a degree in medicine to know why you're sick."

"Mhm."

"You're sick because of karma."

"Karma," Lovino repeated listlessly.

"This is all the bad karma coming back to you," Matthew said. He picked up the remote and switched the channel to one showing an older hockey game. "Because you've been such an ass to me." Ooh, wasn't he brave tonight?

Lovino was about to reply when Matthew held his chopsticks out, interrupting him. "Now that we've got a lot of bad karma in the place, it's going to make Canada lose – it's all they're fault if they do."

Lovino glanced towards the screen, saw the game, but didn't say anything.

Matthew's eyes were still focused on the screen as he tilted his head to the side, asking curiously, "But really… why are you sick? Anything you did on your date last night?"

Lovino had gone to his third or perhaps fourth date the previous night and had come home later than Matthew had expected. He still hadn't said anything about it, and no matter how many times Matthew pestered him about it, asking what they did, what she looked like, Lovino would never answer. He would always glare, say something scathing comment about Matthew's stupidity, and walk away without another word.

"Nothing happened," Lovino answered.

"Of course!" Matthew raised his hand and chopsticks in defeat. "Nothing happened. Nothing ever happens."

Lovino shifted his weight, a furrow appearing between his eyebrows. "Why are you so curious, anyway?"

Taken aback by the question, Matthew turned his eyes away from the game, meeting the gaze of his flatmate. Lovino was sitting up, his lean body leaning against the couch armrest for support. Strands of dark hair fell over his flushed face, but his steady gaze focused exclusively on Matthew. His hazel eyes were focused, studying, and waiting.

Matthew opened his mouth to say something, but while he searched inside himself for a reason, he realized he didn't really have any. It most likely was his annoying curiosity getting the better of him again. He closed his mouth and shrugged before turning back to the television. "You know what? I don't really know why…"

Lovino was silent, but looked away after a moment. "So stop asking," he sighed wearily.

"Yeah, I probably should," Matthew agreed. "But that doesn't mean I will."

"And it doesn't mean I'll answer anytime soon," Lovino replied, bringing his cup of soup to his lips.

"Yeah, I don't expect you to," Matthew laughed, leaning against the back of the couch as he hastened the speed of his chopsticks. "Now shut up or you and your bad karma will make Canada lose another shot."

* * *

Napolitano was roaming around the flat aimlessly and because Matthew was too focused on the game, it took until the last stretch of the game for him to realize that he and Lovino were right beside each other, but they hadn't said a word for nearly half an hour. The only thing that separated them was the thick comforter, but Matthew could still feel Lovino's legs touching his back.

He glanced over at Lovino, who was, contrary to Matthew's expectations, still awake. He wasn't making any attempts to move away, either. His soup was set safely in his lap with his hands wrapped around it. His head was tilted to the side as he silently watched the game – unlike Matthew, who was chanting and booing like he was in the stadium himself.

Letting out a sigh of relief – Canada was leading after all – Matthew picked up his box of Chinese food, frowning as he realized it was already cold. Shaking his head and making a mental note to heat it up later, he leant back against the couch and snickered.

Lovino glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "What?" he mumbled.

"Well, most people talk less when they're sick," Matthew explained. "But today, when you're sick, I think this is the most we've actually said to each other in one day."

Lovino held his stare for a second before grunting and looking away, as if deciding the topic of conversation wasn't worth continuing.

Yep, he was definitely getting better.

* * *

**A/N **;; Stay awesome, guys.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N **;; Hey, guys! This is update number deux in my update-as-many-stories-as-possible-athon!

This chapter has been a long time coming, and it's actually really… eh. But don't worry! Since I know I can write so much better than this, I've decided that I'm going to put this story through a little edit. I'm going to clean up the writing, improve the scenes and character interactions, and after I'm done, it will be like this shitty story with no effort put into it never existed! I just recently read through what I've wrote thus far, and it made he think about how boring this is, and how much detail there could be. I love detail; it can make or break a story for me, and to look at my own halfassed story… There will be no plot changes. It will just look prettier when I'm done!

And now, I doubt that there will be another month-long update stretch before I upload chapter six. The five chapters I've written thus far aren't overly long, so I should be able to finish the edit relatively soon. I'd give me about three weeks before the next chapter comes up.

* * *

**Tell Me Something I Don't Know**

**…o…**

**Chapter Five**

**…o…**

Lovino had wanted to go back to work the next day, but because the manager had called and told him to stay home for one more day, he decided against that. Well, that and because Matthew had kicked the thin wall between their rooms when the Canadian had caught on to him trying and failing to convince the manager he was healthy enough to work that day. He'd had enough to Matthew's staredowns the day before, thanks.

He had woken up earlier than Matthew, though, like he usually did, so that was a sign that he was getting better.

And nearly an hour after Lovino woke up, Matthew trudged into the kitchen, groggy with his hair sticking up in every which direction. He hadn't even put on his glasses yet, having smelled the coffee Lovino had put on before he had even opened his bedroom door. He entered the kitchen in small, shuffled steps, knocking into both the couch and into a chair on his way. "It's so early," he mumbled, holding onto the counter before he could trip over his own feet, using his free hand to rub at his eyes. "Napo's not even awake yet."

Lovino looked over at him from where he was pouring coffee into his mug. "It's already seven."

Shrugging, Matthew ignored him, propping himself up onto one of the stools. "Pass the coffee, please," he yawned, resting his head against the island counter as he took a seat. He held out a weak hand as Lovino slid the pot over to him.

"Thanks," he mumbled, holding the pot closer to his face to feel the warmth. "Can I have a mug?"

Lovino turned away from him, leaning against the counter. He took a sip of his coffee. "Get one yourself."

"Please?" Matthew whimpered.

Lovino grunted, not giving anything else as a response. He set his mug down and walked away, heading towards the toaster and reaching into the cupboard to get the bread. Sighing dramatically, Matthew stood up and hobbled over to the cupboard beside the one Lovino was reaching in, taking out a worn red mug. It was the one Alfred had gotten him one year as a birthday present, and he had kept it for the last ten or so years. Sure, it was chipped and faded, but it was a gift from his brother and he cherished it all the same. Hanging the mug from two fingers, he jumped back on his stool as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Mmm," he mused, holding the mug under his nose to take a whiff. "There's nothing like caffeine and antioxidants in the morning to start the day off right."

Lovino raised an eyebrow as he approached with two saucers, a slice of toast on each of them. "Here," he said, sliding one of the plates towards Matthew.

Matthew looked up from his mug, pulled out of his thoughts. As his eyes caught sight of the plate in front of him, his eyebrows shot up higher than he even thought was possible in his lethargic state. "Wow, thanks," he said, trying to lessen the surprise in his voice.

Lovino grunted, beginning to peel the crust off his toast.

After finishing a second cup of coffee, Matthew stood up, feeling significantly more awake than he had when he had dragged himself out of his room. "Time to go to work," he grumbled, shooting Lovino a backwards glance before turning around and heading towards the washroom.

"Uh, hey," Lovino called, clearing his throat.

Matthew turned back, his toast still held in one hand. "Yes?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled as he popped the last of his food into his mouth.

Lovino frowned and look down at his coffee mug, his thumb carefully tracing along its rim. "Uh… thanks, for…" he paused, his cheeks reddening. "Thanks for last night. You know, the things you did."

Matthew paused. That was surprising, he thought, and kind of out of nowhere. Lovino had already thanked him the night before.

"Oh, okay?" Matthew yawned again, one arm stretching above his head while the other covered his mouth, covering the bread within it. "You already thanked me last night. Can I brush my teeth now?"

Lovino stood up straight, his eyebrows furrowing. "I was just thanking you," he snapped defensively.

"Yes, and I was just saying I wanted to brush my teeth," Matthew replied, holding his hands out in a peaceful manner. "I need to get to work."

His flatmate scoffed and took another sip of his coffee. "Then hurry up, or _you'll _be late," he said, turning away.

Matthew frowned.

He liked him better when Lovino was sick.

* * *

Matthew, despite his efforts, was still kind of late to work that day, but before the manager could start scolding him, he quickly conjured up a story that he was late because he had helped Lovino take his medication before leaving – which he had. Of course, he had exaggerated the story just a little bit in an attempt to make his story just a little bit more credible, but the manager didn't believe him. He had called Lovino earlier in the morning.

"Lovino's not here?" Belle frowned, looking over Matthew's shoulder as he headed towards the open kitchen.

"Good morning to you too, Belle," Matthew said cheerfully, ruffling her hair as he did every morning. "It's a pleasure to see you, too."

"Is he okay?" Elizabeta asked, handing an order to the chef.

"Yes. Unfortunately, he's getting better," Matthew muttered, fixing his vest.

The bell attached to the door rung, and Belle turned around to greet the customer, stopping as she spied a familiar face. "What a shame," she said. "Lovino's regular is here." She sighed, then immediately turned towards Matthew. "Go on, take his order."

"But…" Matthew protested feebly.

"Matt," Elizabeta interrupted, leaning against the counter as she watched him open the cupboard, taking out a row of ceramic mugs. "You do know that out of the four of us, you always get the fewest number of orders."

Matthew looked at her from over his shoulder, frowning. She was correct. Every day, Belle kept a tally sheet of how many people they each served that day, and he was always last. He had always thought it was just something to take bragging rights for, and not something that was suddenly being taken seriously.

"Sorry," he mumbled, setting the mugs out on the counter. "I'll do it."

"I'm just saying…" Elizabeta's voice lowered, her tone becoming more gentle. "All you have to do is take an order." She laughed, pushing off the counter, beginning to align the mugs Matthew had taken out. "You're not obligated to start talking and making long conversations with every person you serve."

Matthew felt his face redden. "I do not have long conversations with every person I take an order from," he huffed, frowning.

"You either do, or you don't talk enough," Belle added, standing beside Elizabeta. "Remember that one time when I had to drag you away from that couple when you started talking about Canada's national hockey team, and you _wouldn't stop_?"

"What? They started it!" he said. "They said they were fans!"

"Yes, but you didn't have to go into it that much," Belle was laughing now, which in turn made Elizabeta start laughing, which in turn made Matthew's frown deepen. "There's such a thing called _small talk_, you know."

"I know what small talk is…"

Suddenly, he found himself being pushed towards Lovino's regular. "Then go use it!"

Oh, he had fallen into their trap. Sighing, Matthew made sure to smoothen out the crease on his shirt and vest, taking out his notepad before he approached the man.

"Um, hello again," he mumbled as he stopped in front of his table, giving a small wave.

The man looked up at him. He smiled. "Good morning. Is…?"

"Um, he's sick," Matthew explained quickly, hoping that they were talking about the same thing – er, person. "Since yesterday."

"Oh," he said softly, obvious disappointment in his voice. Matthew felt himself bristle; he could take orders pretty well, and it wasn't as though he was a snooty waiter – sure, maybe he was one who either didn't socialize enough or socialized _too _much, but not snotty.

He cleared his throat. "So, what can I get for you?" he asked, raising his voice to catch the man's attention.

He skimmed through the menu quickly. "A cappuccino and an order of French toast," he said after a moment, handing the menu back to Matthew.

Matthew quickly wrote the order down – trying to ignore that little part of him that wondered if that was what Lovino took from the man every morning, or if there was a special order just for the Italian to take, because, you know, he was Lovino's _regular. _

"Is there anything else you–" Matthew paused. As he looked up from his notepad, his eyes fell on the man's neck – or, more specifically, at the small group of small, light red bruises that peeked just above his white collar.

He looked up, confused by Matthew's sudden silence, and it only took him a moment to figure out where Matthew's eyes had landed. He cleared his throat and laughed. "A date," he said, chuckling, pulling his collar higher to cover them. "A couple of nights ago."

Blinking, Matthew quickly turned away, embarrassed to having been caught staring. "Oh, I'm sorry," he mumbled, his face quickly brightening. He would have covered his face with his notepad if it wasn't so small.

So, he was officially a nosy waiter and one that didn't know when to cut the line of socializing. Great.

The man smiled brightly. "It's alright! Yes, that's all I'm having."

When he finally returned to the counter to hand the order to the chef, his head turned towards the ground the entire walk there, Matthew proceeded to give himself a mental bashing for being so tactless. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" he hissed, ducking behind the counter so no one would see him berating himself.

Of course, someone would have to notice. Elizabeta stepped into the open kitchen, looking down to see Matthew crouched before her, his knees bent close to his chest and his face buried in his jeans as he tried to rid himself of the blatant embarrassment flushed all over his face. "What happened, Matt?" she asked, a slight hint of laughter in her voice.

He looked up at her wearily. "Lovino's regular caught me staring at the hickeys on his neck," he groaned. Hearing it aloud only made him relive the embarrassment.

"Wait, were you were blatantly staring?" she asked, leaning against the counter as she looked down at him. "You couldn't, you know, discreetly glance at it from the corner of your eye like any normal person would?"

Matthew's lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm so stupid…" he muttered.

Great.

Now he was a nosy, socially inept waiter who didn't know when to cut the line of small talk.

* * *

It was getting late, the shop's traffic was beginning to slow, and Matthew yawned as he fixed an order on a tray. The day had gone by surprisingly quickly, but what sucked about working in such a nice café were the evenings. He was trying his best to stay awake, but the café had a nice, hazy, romantic atmosphere during the evening – and keeping himself alert and awake was a very difficult task indeed.

"What time is it?" he asked, catching his head back before it fell on the counter.

Elizabeta stopped beside him, setting down one tray only to pick another one up. "Nearing nine – and there's a customer," she said just as the bell rung.

"Where's Belle?" he asked, picking his own tray up.

"Restroom," Elizabeta answered quickly, walking away to serve the food. "The customer is sitting by the door. Just get her order when you're done serving that."

Sighing, Matthew knelt down just a bit to carefully balance the tray on his hand. He slowly stood up, making sure it wasn't going to fall, and headed for its assigned table. As soon as the food was set down and he was heading back towards the kitchen, he began to scan the room, searching for the new customer – and he nearly dropped the empty tray when he realized who it was.

And thus Matthew found himself hiding behind the counter for the second time that day.

Just coming out of the washroom, Belle raised an eyebrow at the sight that greeted her – a paranoid Matthew hugging his knees close to his chest, as if he had just seen a ghost.

"What is it?" she asked, interest peaking in her voice.

Carefully, Matthew stuck his head out from behind the counter before quickly ducking back down. "I can't take her order," he said quietly.

"Who's?" Belle arched her neck.

He jabbed a finger over his shoulder. "The girl, sitting by the door – I can't take her order."

Belle looked over the woman and frowned. "Why not, Matt? She looks decent – very pretty, actually," she said, returning her gaze towards Matthew.

The Canadian sighed, his shoulders slumping against the counter.

* * *

Execruatingly bored at home, Lovino decided to drop by the coffee shop just before closing hour. He entered through the back entrance, holding onto Napolitano's leash as he opened the door. There weren't a lot of customers this late at night, so he easily stepped into the open kitchen, noticing Belle completely ignoring the food waiting around her.

"Belle," he called, drawing her attention to him. "What are you doing?"

She quickly turned around, and her eyes brightened as she saw him. "Lovino, you came! I haven't seen you in a while!" Lovino's free arm came around her as she wrapped her arms around his waist, one side of his mouth quirking up. "So, how did you get better?" she asked, speaking into the fabric of his shirt. "Did Matthew sit at your bedside the entire night and pop pills into your mouth?"

"No," Lovino grumbled, bristling, and Belle stepped away from him.

"Of course," she mused, smiling before turning back to the sight that had so successfully held her attention beforehand.

"Belle, there's so much food here," he said, hastily grabbing trays from their stack and setting orders on them. "Where's Liz? Matthew?"

"Liz is with someone right now… and Matt's with a girl," Belle explained, her eyes focused on Matthew and said girl.

"_That's _why there's so much food here?" Lovino asked, irritated. Matthew either talked too much or too little; there was no grey area. He set his head down as he focused on setting each cup of coffee or dish on a tray without ruining their garnishing.

Belle looked over at him out of the corner of her eye. "Don't they make a nice couple?" she asked curiously, tilting her head towards Matthew and the girl he was speaking with. Lovino found himself peeking above the counter, watching as the girl laughed and Matthew smiled. He could feel his own jaw clench at the sight. "Makes me wonder why they ever broke up…"

* * *

**A/N **;; This chapter… Oh, this chapter… is so, so bad. I'm sorry, guys, but this was one of the stories I promised myself I would update on my two year anniversary, so I had to write _something _for it. After the edit for it is through, it will be like a new story!

Oh, I saw something amusing. During the month-long hiatus for this story, I received an anon message on Tumblr (from when I posted the first chapter of this story on my writing blog) that contained one sentence that I think sums up all my readers:

_Thank you for making the best character I've ever read on a piece of fanfiction – the dog, Napolitano, whose average of around three sentences per chapter have rocked my world. – Anon_

Guys, that there represents like half of my readers. Seriously.

Stay awesome, guys.


End file.
